The Necromancer's Knives

by Jen Kirchner

  I scrambled to the wall and pounded my fists into the barrier, but it wouldn’t move.

  “Stop them!” I screamed at Dad, but he didn’t respond.

  I started clawing at the grass, pulling up earth and rocks. Maybe I could dig under the barrier. Maybe I could stop them. Maybe I could get my magic back. Stones and packed earth dug under my fingernails and cut my skin open, but I continued to dig.

  A spell started to form outside of the silo. This time, I didn’t try to interact with it. I stopped digging for a second and heard shouting. The spell slammed against the silo’s wall, and the black spell string holding the silo together flared.

  “What are you doing?” I recognized Henri’s voice. “Forget about her. This girl is now the one with the power to create and destroy magic.”

  I gasped. I pressed both hands against the cool dirt wall and rested my forehead there. Grandpa’s spell still prevented Henri from talking about me. Unfortunately, now that my magic had been switched, Henri was no longer talking about me—he was talking about the girl.

  “I can talk about it now!” Henri’s excitement was palpable. “This is the girl you need, and I can tell you everything.”

  I threw myself against the barrier over and over, trying to get out, not caring that I was bruising my shoulder, my hip, my head. It was no use. The barrier didn’t break down, and Dad didn’t remove the spell.

  And on Death Radar, I watched Norayr and Henri as they kidnapped the necromancer who had stolen my magic.

  I lay on the cold, wet grass for nearly a half hour. My head throbbed, my body had never felt so sore, and I was shivering. Norayr, Henri, and the necromancer girl were long gone. A few minutes after they left, Ronel had come by to check on the scene, and she left shortly after in the direction Norayr and Henri had gone.

  Apparently, I was old news.

  Alone, exhausted, and in pain, l stared at the stars and felt the enormous mass of necromancer powers the girl had forced upon me. They felt like an enormous tumor that roiled and burbled and slithered between Dad’s and Mikelis’s powers inside the fourth channel.

  Everything felt wrong. I felt wrong.

  The energy of a new spell washed across the field and swept through the silo. Mikelis’s signal appeared on Death Radar, and I was surprised when I heard him shout my name almost immediately after.

  Great. My range on Death Radar had been cut short, too.

  His voice was slightly muffled on the other side of the wall. “Kari? Are you okay?”

  A lump formed in my throat and I couldn’t speak. Tears sprang to my eyes. I blinked them away.

  The silo rumbled and started to sink back down into the earth. A cloud of dirt and grass was kicked into the air. I crawled into the center of the silo and curled into a ball so I wouldn’t get more crud in my eyes.

  A few seconds later, the silo had been reduced to a ring of dirt, and Mikelis was crouched over me. He looked frazzled. His hair stuck up everywhere, and he was covered in spots of dirt. He brushed my hair back and wiped some of the grime from my face.

  “Are you okay?” He pulled me into his arms, apparently not caring how bloody and dirty I was.

  “Ow,” I choked out.

  He loosened his hold on me. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay.” I wanted to say more, but I knew that I would bawl if I tried.

  I switched their magic.

  “Where is the necromancer?” he demanded.

  They took her.

  Mikelis glanced over at Rambo, then back at me. I wasn’t sure what I saw in his eyes, but at least it wasn’t pity. His brows pinched in an unspoken question.

  “Norayr and Henri,” I croaked out. “They were here. They took her.”

  He pulled me back against his chest and glanced around the area. “I found your bag, but you disappeared. I was terrified, Kari.”

  I tried to say more, but the frog in my throat wouldn’t let me speak. My parents appeared on Death Radar.

  “I’ll be right back,” Mikelis said.

  He released me and made a quick circle of the perimeter, checking for bad guys or whatever it is that Mikelis checks for. Residual magic, or a trail to follow, maybe. He was halfway around the clearing when my parents appeared, holding hands and looking distraught. Mom had her purse slung over one shoulder and my purse over the other. Her round, tanned face was streaked with tears and black smudges. Dad’s clothing was dirty and there was a tear in the shirt.

  They ran to me. While Dad tried assessing my injuries, Mom dropped into the grass next to me and threw her arms around my shoulders, pulling me to her. We both started to cry.

  “Oh, Eliana. I am sorry.” Her voice broke with a sob. “This is all my fault. You were correct…” Her voice trailed off, and she ran her hand over my hair. “I think I miscalculated. I think I told Luucas something that should not have been spoken. I went too far and became lost in the Sight.” Her voice lowered to a murmur and it trembled. “I did not See this other necromancer. I am so very sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. I am not an adorable crier. “You have to stop using your gifts.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice sounding soft and broken. “I will only make the situation worse.”

  “It’s already worse, Mom. I lost my magic.” My voice broke, and I started to cry.

  Dad stiffened. “Eliana…”

  I shook my head at him and sniffed back a sob. “No, you were right. If I didn’t spend half of my time running away from everything, this situation probably wouldn’t be so out of control.”

  He crouched down next to me and wrapped his arms around Mom and me. “No, this is my fault. I do not blame you for yelling, Eliana. You were right. I was distracted by my anger at the Council. I made a reckless decision. I…” His voice trailed off and he looked down at his shoes. “I spent everything we had to purchase the building above the voodoo bunker. Everything.”

  Mom let out a squeak of dismay. Maybe her Sight had been so disoriented that she’d had no idea. I didn’t know what to say.

  “We all screwed up, Dad. Clearly, we need better communication in this family.” I put my hand on top of his. “We’ll figure something out about your financial situation.”

  His smile was terse. “We need an emergency family meeting. I will contact everyone somehow. Are you well enough to travel?”

  I’d have to be. Family meetings are a big deal for Immortals. There aren’t many official families within the Immortal State, so they formalize all kinds of rituals that human families take for granted. Family meetings are not declared lightly.

  “I need Stubby,” I said.

  Mom pulled away from me and upended both of our purses. Strange odds and ends tumbled into the grass: brushes, lip gloss, compact mirrors, hand towels, socks, a pair of puce spandex underwear, my wallet, Mom’s wallet, tampons, a couple of black markers for impromptu autographs. The pink glow-in-the-dark bandage fluttered out of the side pocket of my purse with the teeny black spell string swirling around it.

  Mom grabbed one of the towels I’d used to wrap Stubby and brushed away some of the dirt, tears, and blood on my face.

  Mikelis signaled Dad from the far side of the grass. He held something in his hand, but I couldn’t make it out from here.

  “I will be right back,” Dad said.

  I nodded. I grabbed one of the markers from my purse and took Mom’s hand in mine, palm up. I wrote a simple sentence, and then I released her.

  She looked at her hand, then frowned. She held it up to show my writing in careful, plain print: I WILL NOT SHARE.

  I tossed the marker down and grabbed two hand towels. When I climbed to my feet, everything ached.

  “Rambo, I’m going to get Stubby first. I’ll be right back.”

  Uh…

  Rambo sounded surprised. I smiled as I passed.

  “What is it?”

  I don’t sense Stubby. I only sense Miss Sparkles.

 
I glanced at the coat in the grass. “Miss Sparkles, are you in there?”

  Yes.

  I headed for the small flower patch where I’d tossed Stubby.

  “Stubby?” I realized my voice was edged with panic. “Stubby, answer me.”

  There was no answer.

  I moved into the trees, about two feet from the edge of the grassy copse. I made three full circles and didn’t see the knife. A horrifying thought occurred: Norayr and Henri had stolen my magic and Stubby. I couldn’t think of a worse scenario.

  “Oh no, no, no, no.” I couldn’t stop saying it. I ran back to the clearing where my parents and Mikelis had gathered. I was jabbering like a frightened idiot and I knew it. “Norayr and Henri took Stubby!”

  Mikelis didn’t even look up at my comment. “Give them ten minutes alone with that knife, and they’ll bring it right back.”

  I let out a horrified squeak.

  Mikelis’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with an expression of shock and apology. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.” He held up his hands. “But maybe it isn’t as big of a deal as you think. There’s nothing Stubby can teach that necromancer girl. They grabbed the wrong knife.”

  I shook my head. “No, they grabbed the right knife. Stubby was with me the night I blew up Fast Food Row—the night I took Henri captive. Henri knows that Stubby helped me make a lot of those crazy spells that no one’s seen before.” Just speaking the words made my panic worsen. I could feel myself shaking.

  If Norayr could coerce the girl into cooperating, Stubby could tell them how my magic works in great detail. The knife even knew half of the powers I had discovered on The Floor and could show the girl how to use them. Would Stubby do that? I didn’t know. What a knife wanted most was to kill…

  “What is it?” Mom asked. “You look sick.”

  I felt sick. I sucked in a slow, deep breath. What I had to say wasn’t something I liked to advertise, so I hadn’t told many people—especially not my parents.

  “There’s a reason I haven’t told many people what my magic is capable of. That girl could deactivate every power in the first three channels, or rewrite channel spells altogether. Or make a bunch of blood spells. Obviously, that doesn’t affect necromancers since we store all of our powers near us in the fourth channel. But everyone else…”

  Mikelis grimaced. “And now Norayr holds the magic power of the world in his hand.”

  “Pretty much. We need to find them.”

  Mikelis picked up the necromancer girl’s coat, holding it away from his body. He carried it over to where Mom and I were kneeling in the grass and set it next to me. He gave me a pleading look.

  I followed his gaze to the coat and then looked back up to him. The coat. Him. The coat.

  His unspoken request suddenly hit me.

  “No,” I said. “Absolutely not. I’m not touching Miss Sparkles.”

  Mikelis frowned. “She named her knife Miss Sparkles? Am I the only necromancer who didn’t name their knives?”

  Mom giggled. “Apparently so.”

  Mikelis raised an eyebrow at her, then shook his head as if dismissing the idea of Dad naming his knives. “I know you didn’t ask for the switch, and it seems insensitive for me to say it so soon, but…” He knelt beside me and brushed his fingers across my cheek. “You’re in a vulnerable position right now, and it would help if you knew how to use your new powers. The knife will tell you if you just touch it. Obviously, you don’t have to use those powers against anyone. But they’d be good to have available, just in case.”

  I wasn’t sure if I could do it. The first time I’d touched Longy, it was horrible.

  “I don’t know, I—”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad bend down next to Rambo. He grasped it without hesitation and lifted it from the ground. He turned and took a step toward us.

  Dad’s legs wobbled. His head snapped back and his arm twitched. The knife jostled, and his fingers struggled to grasp it. Dad tripped—backward—and let out a startled cry. Rambo sailed through the air and hit the ground hard. Dad landed on his butt.

  “Diaco!” Mom scrambled to her feet and rushed to him.

  Mikelis and I turned toward him, both of us clearly confused and surprised.

  Before I could reach him, Dad was back on his feet, brushing off his jeans. “I, ah, tripped.”

  I scanned the grass for a rock or a tree branch or a hole. That was the spot where he had erected the protective silo, so the ground was uneven. I gave him a once-over, noting the dark grass stains. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” He took Mom’s hand and led her back over to my bag, leaving Rambo discarded a few feet away.

  Mikelis raised an eyebrow in question, but didn’t comment.

  I walked over to where Rambo had fallen, and I stared at the knife. What had just happened?

  Slowly, as if bracing for something that might bite, I reached down. My fingers slid across the dark, kidskin-like grip. It was soft and smooth but too big for my hand. I lifted the knife and waited for the inevitable transfer of information that would tell me Rambo’s dark, secret purpose.

  Rambo stared at me.

  I stared at Rambo.

  Nothing happened.

  Hi.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Rambo’s mental voice blared into my head in its typical monotone, in its feeble attempt to whisper.

  I think you look horrible. If Mikelis stays with you after this, he’s a keeper.

  Not exactly what I was asking, but it was still a good answer.

  I carried the knife back, wrapped it in a pair of socks and a clean pair of underwear, and placed it in my bag.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When I woke, it was silent and dark. I realized I’d slept at a weird and painful angle against the sink and had used a pizza box as a pillow. A heavy layer of grease covered my cheek and I had a horrible kink in my neck.

  My head was fuzzy. Details of the last few hours flitted back to me in bits and pieces. I remembered Mikelis carrying me out of the woods while I drifted in and out, too exhausted to walk on my own. I remembered a discussion about having the family gathering at the cabin where Brad had been hiding. I remembered Brad yelling at me while fixing my injuries. I’d devoured his two-day-old pepperoni pizza without caring about my manners. Everything else was blank.

  I picked up my head and blinked a few times, adjusting to the light—

  My entire family was here, stuffed inside this little bathroom, nine pairs of eyes gawking at me.

  Cool air ran across my skin, and I wrapped my arms around my chest. I felt skin. A lot of skin. As if I were naked.

  I blinked again and looked down at myself.

  I was naked.

  I let out an ear-piercing shriek. Apparently, everyone had been so transfixed by my naked form that they hadn’t realized I’d woken up, and my scream scared the crap out of them.

  Brad, who had been kneeling in front of me, was startled by my outburst and tried jumping backward, but there was no room—my attorney, Marcus, stood behind him, bent at the waist, and Brad’s head slammed into Marcus’s forehead. Marcus went down hard, taking out my dad in the process. Dad fell into the shower, where my godfather and grandfather had crammed themselves.

  A can of shaving cream exploded. White foam coated every surface. Startled shouts became agonized screams, followed by cursing in six different languages. Some of the languages were ancient and extinct, yet all the curses were identifiable by their intensity and use of spittle.

  Uncle Rick was in the doorway yanking my foam-coated mother out of the room. Mikelis threw a towel over his head and mine, protecting us from the foamy aloe storm falling in glops from the ceiling.

  The evacuation proceeded quickly, though Mikelis lingered next to me, apparently trying to get a longer peek. I snatched the towel off our heads and gave him a hard shove out the door, then slammed the door shut.

  I looked down at myself and realized
I wasn’t naked after all; I was just missing my shirt. My blood-crusted tank top had been pushed up over my bra. Still, that was bad enough—especially with so many people staring at me.

  “What in the hell?” I yelled, as I secured the towel around me. “Where’s my shirt?”

  Brad shouted back, “In the trash. I was able to heal most of your cuts and bruises, but that weird scar won’t go away. We think it’s permanent.”

  I pulled the towel back and looked. Rambo’s mark was pink and puffy, and made me wince when I touched it.

  I wasn’t surprised by their assessment. Somehow, I already knew that I’d live with this mark forever.

  “Mikelis and Uncle Diaco told us what happened,” he added.

  The ceiling was still dripping on me, so I opened the door and stepped into the main room. The old log cabin came straight from the 1960s. Everything was dark brown and accented with burnt orange, avocado, and even more brown. Most of the cabin’s space was a large rec room with old couches and chairs grouped around a large fireplace.

  Brad and Marcus were in the tiny kitchenette distributing threadbare towels from the same dated color scheme. Almost everyone had a towel over their head and was scrubbing themselves dry. Mikelis took the last towel and returned to my side.

  Uncle Rick leaned against the bathroom wall with his towel draped over one shoulder. He’d sheared his blond hair to military length, so a quick swipe with the towel had been enough. He was wearing conservator attire and his dark goggles, so I guessed he’d come here straight from work.

  My other surrogate uncle and Brad’s first-channel mentor, Heraclitus, was perched on a stool, wrapping his shaggy hair into a turban. He was the embodiment of the Immortal State’s mandatory educational program in a pair of dark gray sweatpants, black sneakers, and a T-shirt that read There’s no place like 127.0.0.1. Inexplicably, he had a tweed blazer thrown over it.

  My parents were down the hall, sharing a towel. Mom didn’t look too bad, but Dad had gotten hit the hardest. His clothes were soaked.

  The progenitors of the immortal race stood by the fireplace. They were a sight to behold, even with my dampened senses. The air wavered around their forms and distorted the image of anything within a half inch of their bodies, as if the physical plane were a giant puzzle and they were unnatural pieces that would never fit into it. That was where their similarities ended.